


Bang Bang (He Shot Me Down)

by zade



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Anal Fingering, Breathplay, Cock & Ball Torture, Consensual Mind Control, Consensual Non-Consent, Deepthroating, Everybody Lives, Fear Play, Forced Orgasm, Gun Kink, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Lube, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Orgasm Control, Roman is not okay, Russian Roulette, reference to suicide, this only exists because of my partner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3220661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zade/pseuds/zade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I said, get on your fucking knees.”</p>
<p>Peter drops like a stone, eyes bright, sweat already breaking out on his temple and chest.  “That all you got?”  </p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>Peter deep throating a gun he is pretty sure is unloaded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bang Bang (He Shot Me Down)

**Author's Note:**

> warnings/enticements: gun play, breathplay, reference to bloodplayl, fear play, references to JR's suicide, mind control sex, consensual mind control, non-consensual russian roulette, fingering, no lube type fingering, orgasm control, forced orgasms, probably some form of cbt, not really at all safe sane or consensual (read: dub-con)
> 
> this is for my partner, (hateboners on tumblr) because they literally made me do it
> 
> also my knowledge of guns comes entirely from diagrams online and could very possibly be entirely wrong

“No coke,” Peter says.

Roman smirks, a little quirk of his lips that Peter follows so closely with his eyes that Roman wants to laugh. “For you or for me?”

“No coke,” Peter says again.  “For anybody.”

Roman rolls his eyes, but doesn’t reach for his stash.  Peter is looking around Roman’s room nervously, like he hasn’t been there before.  Like Peter hasn’t fucked him stupid as he clung to the headboard not three feet away from where he’s standing.

Roman locks the door, leans against it, and watches Peter. They won’t be interrupted, and if Olivia was planning on it, a lock on the door wouldn’t stop her away, but locks make Peter feel safer, and Roman lives for the little grateful smile Peter flashes him.

Peter rubs his palms on his jeans, nervous, sweaty.

Roman can’t feel anything but excitement.  Who needs coke, he’s high on anticipation. “Peter, we don’t have to—”

“No, I want to,” Peter interrupts, meeting his eyes for a second before averting them, which is okay with Roman.  They’re not there yet. “Did you get the…the, um...”

“Yeah, I did.”  The gun was near burning a hole in the back pocket of Roman’s pants.  He had found it in his mother’s underwear drawer, rummaging around for money or drugs or something incriminating.  “Well, go on.  Strip.”

He’s pretty sure it’s the gun his father used to blow his brains out.  He vaguely remembers that gun, remembers his father’s blood spilling out across his mother’s favorite rug. He doesn’t tell Peter, because he’s pretty sure that’d be enough to make him back down.  Besides, Roman cleaned it.  Twice.

Peter strips slowly, folding his clothes in a neat pile, completely at odds with the disheveled mess that is Roman’s room.  He stands there, naked, not meeting Roman’s gaze.  His hands are almost trembling, one on his thigh, one resting across his belly, and the hair on his arms in standing on end.

They had first spoke of this in hushed tones, drunk on beer and sloppy kisses in Roman’s red car.  “it’s just, it’s against my nature,” Peter had told him, and Roman understood that. The frog and the scorpion; it was in his nature to betray Peter, and Peter’s to be betrayed.  “It’s against everything I’ve been taught to believe my whole life.  But I want it.”

Roman had kissed him, wet and drunk and sweet.

“Don’t make me regret it, okay?” Peter had whispered onto his lips, and Roman had kissed him back and hoped that he wouldn’t.

Roman smiles, leaning down slowly to try and meet Peter’s eyes. They flicker towards him, then back towards the ground.

“Okay,” Peter says and shakes his body out. “Okay,” he says again, and locks eyes with Roman.

As soon as he does, Roman can feel the power thrumming through his veins begin to sing.  “Get on your knees,” he commands.  He can feel Peter resisting, sees Peter’s fist clench, his muscles locked and trembling as he struggles not to obey. “I said, get on your fucking knees.

Peter drops like a stone, eyes bright, sweat already breaking out on his temple and chest.  “That all you got?” 

He should know better than to taunt Roman; he may be a wolf, but Roman is made of poison.

He is surprised at how satisfying it is to watch Peter bow under his will.  “No more talking,” he says, and Peter’s mouth snaps shut.  He pulls the gun out of his back pocket, strokes along the barrel, spins the cylinder around and around again, watching Peter watch him.  “Take this,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes locked with Peter’s, “and suck it.”

He squats down so they’re eye-level.  Peter takes the gun from his hand, and brings it to his lips, still trembling. The barrel slips between his lips and he grimaces at the taste, but begins to suck it.

A drizzle of blood hits his lips and Roman wipes his nose, licks the blood off his thumb.  Peter and the gun and the blood are making him hard in his slacks and he rubs himself. Peter’s hard, too, but it’s not enough.  Roman wants to own him, to control, to destroy him.

“Peter,” he says, and Peter lifts his eyes to meet Roman’s without hesitation, and the sheer trust in the act is almost as much of a headrush as Peter being compelled to obey him.  “Get yourself harder, yeah?  Get yourself so hard you think you’re going come. But you can’t, okay?  Not until I say so.”

Peter groans around the muzzle and reaches down, closing his eyes and tugging at himself hard and fast.  Peter has big, callused hands, and Roman knows how good and rough they feel against a cock.

“Good. You’re doing so good, Peter.”  Peter hums his approval around his mouthful of metal and locks eyes with Roman, anticipating a command. “Go, on, come for me.”

Peter groans and shudders, a tremor running down his spine as he comes all over his hand and belly, and then his hand stills. He breathes heavily around the gun, but Roman can see the tip of his tongue, still sucking at it.

Roman stands back up, grabbing Peter’s jaw, and makes sure that Peter is watching him.  “I don’t think I told you to stop,” he says slowly, and gestures to Peter’s softening dick.  “Matter of fact, I think you shouldn’t move anymore without me telling you to.  Get yourself hard again, and none of that pansy shit, stroke yourself like you mean it.”

Roman can see the how tightly Peter’s arm muscles are clenched, trying not to give in to him.  Roman pushes harder, Peter’s eyes squeeze shut with a noise of frustration as he grips his dick and begins pulling on it rigorously again.

He circles Peter slowly.  A predator.  The scent of blood fills his nostrils and he knows he could tear Peter apart. Might, in fact.

Peter’s hand moves furiously at his dick but slowly with the gun, and Roman doesn’t like that. It would be better, Roman thinks, if it was even.  “Choke yourself with the gun.”

Peter splutters around the metal, wedged into the back of his throat, now, almost cutting off the air.  His hand still moves along his dick with powerful strokes and his eyes are watering.

They’re eyes are still locked.  Not surprising because Peter _wants_ this and Roman can barely take his eyes off of Peter for more than a moment.  “Keep going. I wanna hear you choking. Fuck your throat with my gun, Peter.”

And Peter complies, has no other choice. He slams the gun in and out of his throat, making tiny choked noises and whining and shaking, he’s almost hard again, cock an angry red.  There’s another dribble of blood from his nose but Roman just licks it up as it hits his lip, too preoccupied with the way Peter’s hand moves quickly and reluctantly down his swollen cock.

“You feeling sore, Peter?  If you tell me you wanna stop, we can stop.” Peter grunts. 

Roman circles back to Peter’s front.  “What’s that? Cat got your tongue?” Roman laughs and Peter quakes, sweaty and bright eyed and finally hard again, although Roman imagines it hurts. He grips himself through his pants and clear his throat to get Peter’s attention again.

“Press the gun into the back of your throat and leave it there.  I wanna hear you struggle for air.”  Based on the way his stomach spasms, Peter is gagging on the gun.  Roman groans, and rubs his dick again.  “Cock it.”

Peter’s hand moves without his consent, and Roman relishes the panic he finds in Peter’s eyes. It’s not enough though.  Roman wants to see him vibrating with fear, see him cry, see him doubt Roman the way he knows Peter does.

“Do you think it’s loaded?  Do you think I would do that to you?”

Peter is shaking now, with anger or fear, Roman isn’t sure. His cock is leaking fluid, but only barely, already spent.  He grimaces with each stroke, shaking and sore but bound by Roman’s words.  His stomach spasms again and again and his face is red and blotchy and there are tears and spit in rivulets.

Roman unzips his pants, pulls out his cock and strokes it. The urge to fuck Peter or come all over his face is powerful, but he has plans.  “Peter, look at me.”

There is reluctance to meet his eyes now. Peter is still working his throat around the gun, choking and gagging and trying his hardest to just take it. He is struggling, rigid, scared of what Roman will make him do next and Roman could breathe his fear in like air.

“Look at me!”

Peter’s head whips up and he gurgles with the motion, face flushed red.

“Peter, put your finger on the trigger.”

Peter’s eyes go wide, shaking his head rapidly even as his finger shifts to cradle the trigger.

Roman chuckles, breathy, excited. He speaks slowly, softly, completely in control, despite his hand on his cock and the blood spilling from his nose.  “Good. Now I’m going to count to three.  When I hit three, you’re going to come again.  And then you are going to pull the trigger.”

He’s making little muffled noises now, shaking his head and crying, really crying, which is what Roman was aiming for, panic and humiliation and pure lizard brain fear.  He keeps pulling on his dick, and Roman can practically hear the rasp of Peter’s dry palm on his dick and imagine the burn of skin to skin.

Roman strokes himself, getting harder as he sees Peter’s body try to fight him in his panic.  “One,” he pauses, watches Peter’s breathing begin to race faster and faster.  “Two.”  Peter shudders.  “Three.”

Peter comes with a strangled shout, stomach heaving, pulling the trigger only seconds after. 

Roman can practically taste relief as Peter deflates, sobbing, still pulling on his soft and sore dick, because Roman didn’t tell him he could stop. Roman laughs, heady feelings thrumming through his veins that he is only slightly concerned could be related to the blood still pouring from his nose, both nostrils now.

“Well, that’s one down.  Five more chambers. One in five’s a little more risky, huh?”  Roman reaches out and takes the gun from his grasp, pulling it from his mouth and reveling in the suction and how Peter leans forward to try and keep it from slipping out from between his lips.

Peter gasps, rasping in deep breaths, palming his barely hard dick and mouth open and panting like a dog, cracked lips covered in saliva.  His hand and stomach are growing sticky and he whimpers with each rough pull of his hand.

Romans wipes the blood from above his lip, licks it from his fingers.  He pulls back the hammer, watches Peter’s eyes shoot towards him.  He presses the muzzle against Peter’s forehead.

“Okay.  Here’s how this is going to work now. You’re going to stick two of your fingers in your ass and fuck yourself.” Peter sits there staring up at him, kneeling and panting and rapt.  “You’re going to do this now, Peter.”

He compiles, wincing, and Roman can see his hips trembling to shift away, but he is trapped there, by Roman’s design.  His cock is barely hard at all, but perks up a little at the dual sensations, despite—or maybe, Roman thinks, because—of the pain.

“Little dry for you?  Sorry, must have slipped my mind.”  Roman smirks, all teeth and readjusts his hold on the gun, making sure Peter watches.  “Now I’m gonna fuck your mouth and you’re gonna suck me good and if you don’t, I’ll pull the trigger for encouragement. And you’re gonna make yourself come again before I do, or I’m going to make you kneel on my floor and jack off until your dick is so raw it bleeds.”

There is a gush of blood from his nostrils and it drips from off his lips and hits Peter just between the eyes, and blood is honestly the only thing Roman can think of that could make him hotter.

Peter looks up at him, jacking his cock and fingering himself dutifully, mouth open obligingly but fire and fear in his eyes. Roman wishes he had brought a camera. He palms his cock and sets it to Peter’s lips.  He’s going to be jacking off to this for weeks.

Roman pauses for a moment, waits for Peter’s shaky exhale, then pushes into his mouth and as far back into his throat as he can.  Peter gags, he can feel the motion around his cock, and it feels fucking amazing and he uses the motion to push even further. He cuts off Peter’s air much better than the gun did, can feel the pressure of him trying to exhale on the head of his cock and he stands there and digs his fingers into Peter’s hair and counts silently to thirty.

When he pulls back, Peter gasps, wet sounding and there are tears and snot on his face and Roman wants rip him apart with his teeth and hear him scream.  He shoves back in while Peter is still panting and starts fucking his mouth at the fastest pace he can manage.

Roman wants to cut him, wants to bleed him, wants to watch him drain himself on the floor and be his, the way JR was Olivia’s and no one else’s.

Peter’s concentration is clearly on his breathing.  Roman cocks the gun and shoots before Peter’s eyes even focus on him and the stutter of his breath and the sudden tightness around his cock is so worth the way Peter has begun to shake like a leaf.  He could order him some more, wants to, but there’s pressure building behind his eyes and Roman knows he’s in for one hell of a migraine as it is.

“One in four now.  You better start actually sucking my dick if you don’t want a bullet in your brain.”

Peter’s mouth is tighter around him, tongue undulating and the barest scrape of teeth.  Roman moans, pulls Peter’s hair tighter and lets his eyes close.

“Shit,” Roman says.  “You keep that up, I’m gonna come so quick.  You better hurry if you’re gonna come first.”

Peter chokes, makes a high pitched, worried noise, and Roman opens his eyes to watch.  Peter looks shocked, eyes wide and face flushing nervously.

Roman smiles, reaches down and touches Peter’s cheek tenderly with the hand not on his gun, and speaks in a low whisper.  “Did you think I was going to order you to again?  Not this time.  This time is all on you.”

Peter moans and starts fucking himself harder, pulling at his dick in earnest even though it’s red and more swollen than he’s been.  Every thrust pushes his forehead further into the barrel of the gun and Roman is pretty sure he’ll have a mark in the form of a circle on his forehead.

Roman can tell there’s no way Peter is going to force himself to come before Roman does, and he chuckles, thrusting deep in to Peter’s throat and cutting off his air completely, letting the frantic spams of Peter around him bring him to orgasm.  His cock begins to soften immediately, but he keeps it as far down Peter’s throat as he can.

Peter begins to twitch, frantically trying to get himself off and force a breath, body desperately trying to move, to breathe, to escape, but Roman holds him right there.

“You didn’t follow my orders,” Roman says.  He cocks the hammer on the gun.  “Bang,” he says, and fires.  “You better come quick. One in three is not very good odds.”

Peter’s face is bright red now, and there are blood spots dotting the whites of his eyes. He’s fucking himself violently, and Roman thinks he must be bleeding, but he doesn’t have a choice but to keep at it, not really.  He keeps jacking himself, faster and faster, and Roman things he’s not going to do it, that he’ll pass out before he comes, but then Peter tenses, whole body rigid and he comes, barely a drizzle falling from his cock.

Roman pulls out, lets Peter take a big, gasping breath and smiles.  He tucks himself back into his pants, drops the gun to the floor, and regards Peter for a moment, who has begun wailing, still touching his sore cock, and fucking himself with his fingers.

He squats again, grabs Peter’s jaw and forces their eyes to meet. “Peter, everything I ordered you to do no longer applies, okay?”

Peter collapses immediately, releasing his cock and pulling his fingers from his ass and falling onto the floor with a hoarse sob. Roman catches him, lets Peter fall onto his lap.

“Fuck you so much,” Peter grunts, burying his face in Roman’s lap. He’s still sniffling, and Roman can feel the heat radiating from Peter’s dick through the leg of his pants.  He’s going to be sore for days, remember Roman ordering his hand on his dick every time he moves.

“Shaddup, you liked it.”

Peter can’t argue that.  He throws an arm over Roman’s lap, bringing them closer together.  “Shee-it.”

Roman laughs, “shee-it.” He runs his fingers through Peter’s hair. “Do you need me to get you water? Food?  Coke?”

Peter grumbles. “An ice pack for my dick and something I can stab you with.” He tightens his hold on Roman anyway. “The gun wasn’t actually loaded, was it?”

Roman rolls his eyes.  “What the fuck do you think?” 

Peter nods.  “Thank you.  I’m going to pass out now, considering I just shot my brain out through my dick.”

Roman laughs, but Peter is out in seconds. Roman will carry him to bed in a few minutes, massage his legs when he wakes up.  He will buy Peter a really extravagant meal and they will spend the evening on Roman’s couch, watching shitty zombies movies.

He checks, makes sure Peter is actually sleeping, then reaches over and grabs the gun.  He flips it open, looks at the chamber, there, the one second closest to the top, is a single bullet.  He glances at the bullet, then at Peter.  It wouldn’t have been a betrayal, not really. He doesn’t think it counts as betrayal if everyone knows it’s coming.

He kisses Peter on the forehead, smiles at him. He wants to own Peter, to rule him, to keep him and not share him with the world.  He wants him all to himself; he almost wants him dead. He wouldn’t do it, not really he tells himself. It’s more palatable that way, but it’s also a lie.

Roman, after all is a scorpion.  He can’t really help his nature.

 


End file.
